Monstrous Regiment

blasphemous Abomination Unto Nuggan,” according to Father Jupe.
    And that was probably the secret of her success so far, she thought as she trudged through a puddle. People didn’t look for a woman in trousers. To the casual observer, men’s clothes and short hair and a bit of swagger were what it took to be a man.
    Oh, and a second pair of socks.
    That had been gnawing at her, too. Someone knew about her, just like she knew about Lofty. And he hadn’t given her away. She’d feared it was Eyebrow, but doubted it; he’d have told the sergeant about her, he was that sort. Right now she was guessing it was Maladict, but perhaps that was just because he seemed so knowing all the time.
    Carbor—no, he’d been out cold, and in any case…no, not the troll. And Igor lisped. Tonker? After all, he’d know about Lofty so maybe…no, because why would he want to help Polly? No, there was nothing but danger in owning up to Lofty. The best she could do was try and see to it that the girl didn’t give both of them away.
    She could hear Tonker whispering to his girl.
    “…had just died so he cut off one of his legs and an arm and sewed ’em on men who needed ’em, just like I’d darn a tear! You should’ve seen it! You couldn’t see his fingers move! And he has all these ointments that just…”
    Tonker’s voice died away. Strappi was haranguing Wazzer again.
    “Dat Strappi really gets on my crags,” muttered Carborundum. “You want I should pull the head off’f him? I c’d make it look like a accident.”
    “Better not,” said Polly, but she did entertain the thought for a moment.
    They’d reached a road junction, where the road down from the mountains joined what passed for a main highway. It was crowded. There were carts and wheelbarrows, people driving herds of cows, grandmothers carrying all the household possessions on their backs, a general excitement of pigs and children…and it was all heading one way.
    It was the opposite way to the way the squad was going. The people and animals flowed around it like a stream around an inconvenient rock.
    The recruits bunched up. It was that or be separated by cows.
    Sergeant Jackrum stood up in the cart.
    “Private Carborundum!”
    “Yes, Sergeant?” rumbled the troll.
    “To the front!”
    That helped. The stream still flowed, but at least the crowds parted some distance further along the road and gave the squad a wide berth. No one wants to barge up against even a slow-moving troll.
    But faces stared as the people hurried by. An old lady darted out for a moment, pressed a loaf of stale bread into Tonker’s hands, and said “You poor boys!” before being swept away in the throng.
    “What’s this all about, Sarge?” said Maladict. “These look like refugees!”
    “Talk like that spreads Alarm and Despondency!” shouted Corporal Strappi.
    “Oh, you mean they’re just people getting away early for the holidays to avoid the rush?” said Maladict. “Sorry, I got confused. It must be that woman carrying a whole haystack we just passed.”
    “D’you know what can happen to you for cheeking a superior officer?” screamed Strappi.
    “No! Tell me, is it worse than whatever it is these people are running away from?”
    “You signed up, Mr. Bloodsucker! You obey orders!”
    “Right! But I don’t remember anyone ordering me not to think!”
    “Enough of that!” snapped Jackrum. “Less shouting down there! Move on! Carborundum, you give people a push if they don’t make way, y’hear?”
    They moved on. After a while, the press of people abated a little, so that what had been a torrent became a trickle. Occasionally, there would be a family group, or just one hurrying woman, burdened with bags. One old man was struggling with a wheelbarrow full of turnips.
    They’re even taking the crops out of the fields, Polly noted. And everyone moved at a kind of half run, as if things would be a little better when they’d caught up with the mass of people ahead. Or merely overtook them, perhaps.
    The squad was passed by an old woman bent double under the weight of a black-and-white pig.
    And then there was just the road, rutted and muddy. An afternoon mist was rising from the fields on either side, quiet and clammy. After the noise of the refugees, the silence of the low countryside was suddenly oppressive. The only sound was the trudge and splash of the recruits’ boots.
    “Permission to speak, Sarge?” said Polly.
    “Yes, private?” said